Mycroft Holmes: Juvenile Delinquent
by Q.E.D. 221B
Summary: Lestrade stumbles across some surprising paperwork in a quest to find Sherlock some puzzles. Turns out 'his' Holmes isn't quite as clean-cut as he had thought. MYSTRADE


"Once again, you're not paying attention," Mycroft drawled, rubbing irritable little circles over his temples.

"Sorry," Greg murmured, leafing through the old file he'd brought home with him and been pouring over all evening.

"This is the fifth time," Mycroft pointed out. "If you'd rather be left alone, you need only ask."

"No-no," Greg replied, finally snapping the folder shut and turning his attention to Mycroft. "I'm done."

"Nice to know."

"However, I could use your help with one or two details. If it's not a problem?"

A slow smile spread across Mycroft's face as he scooted over, closer to Lestrade.

"No problem at all. How can I help?"

Smirking, Greg flicked open the file once again and tilted it for Mycroft to see clearly.

The bureaucrat's heart sank upon reading the cover page.

"Question one," Greg began, "Why is it that you've never told me that you have a criminal record?"

Mycroft stared down, wide-eyed, at the manila folder.

"I didn't- I don't... where did you get that?"

"Don't worry," Greg said, "I'm pretty sure this is the only copy. It's not on the data-base. I figure you deleted it once you got the clearance, right?"

"I haven't the faintest idea-"

"But there are always paper records floating about you know?" Greg continued.

Mycroft's face fell, and with a sigh he uttered a quiet, "...oh."

Greg chuckled.

"Anyway, I found this little beauty whilst looking for some cold cases for Sherlock today. Ironic really."

"Yes," Mycroft replied through gritted teeth, "Incredibly ironic."

"So... why didn't you tell me?"

Mycroft shrugged, a furtive glance at the living room door the only indicator of his discomfort with the situation.

"It was a long time ago," he said.

"Yes, so it says," Greg replied with a hum, "You were sixteen?"

"Yes."

"You assaulted someone?"

Mycroft' eyes narrowed and he steadfastly glared at the corner of the room.

"More or less," he stiffly replied.

"Another classmate?"

"Is it really necessary for me to confirm everything in that blasted file?" Mycroft spat.

"Mycroft-"

"You've read it through, you know what happened-"

Greg shrugged.

"I know..." he glanced at the file, "Mr. Wetherby's version of events."

"Well there you go," Mycroft muttered darkly.

Ordinarily Greg would have let the subject drop, but Mycroft had never really reacted quite so strongly to a situation like this before and he, Greg, was curious (and perhaps a little bit worried) as to the reason behind the sudden change.

Being careful to keep his tone neutral, he replied, "I'd like to hear your side of the story love. All it has in here is some official apology from your father's lawyer."

Mycroft frowned.

"Why does it matter?" he asked, "We've established it happened years ago. I wasn't charged."

Greg shrugged, a small smirk tugging persistently at the corners of his lips despite himself.

"I suppose I'm just curious," he said. "Mycroft Holmes: Juvenile Delinquent. It's a story that begs to be told."

Mycroft scoffed, and Greg was gratified to spot a slight softening of his features.

"Besides," he continued, "You've always struck me as the sort of man who has his dirty work done for him."

"Yes, well I usually am," Mycroft conceded.

"What changed?"

Mycroft sighed and let his head fall back against the sofa cushions.

"It was in the heat of the moment," he said.

"Ah, the old hot moment," Greg chuckled.

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"What happened?" Greg asked, making no effort to hide his rapidly returning amusement.

Heaving a distinctly put-upon sigh, Mycroft grudgingly replied, "You are privy to enough of my upbringing to correctly assume that the school Sherlock and I attended was rather..."

"Posh?"

"I was going to say elite, but yes, quite posh. A great number of our peers were the product of some of the country's most influential families."

"Very nice."

Mycroft smirked.

"As a child, I was very much the same as I am now. I never liked the spotlight, preferring to-"

"Pull strings?" Greg teasingly asked.

"-work from the shadows," chuckled Mycroft. "I was left relatively to my own devices, which was, more or less, ideal. Sherlock, likewise, has always been quite consistently himself. It caused... problems."

"Ah."

"He was very resilient though, even as a child, so I didn't worry all that much about it. However - there always have been topics that get under his skin and rile him up. It turned out Henry Wetherby had somehow become privy to those topics."

"Ah," Greg murmured again, beginning to see where this was all heading.

"I came across my brother being harassed after class by Wetherby and his friends. Might I add that each of them were older than me, let alone Sherlock. That in itself, annoyed me."

"Understandably so," Greg replied.

"I had every intention to go over and merely tell them to get on their way, but then I heard some of the things they were saying to him, and saw the affect it was having on my brother... I was incensed and I... well I reacted."

Greg frowned.

"Okay," he said, "So you picked a fight with a bully. I don't understand what the big deal was. That sort of thing happened everyday at my school."

Mycroft, Greg realised, was fidgeting with the bottom button of his waist-coat as he slowly replied, "Yes, well- I somewhat won the fight. Quite thoroughly so."

"How thoroughly?" Greg asked.

Mycroft sighed.

"My breaking his nose was the offence that tended to crop up the most."

"Ah," Greg uttered once more.

"I was aiming for his mouth," Mycroft said with a small shrug. "It seemed fitting. He moved at an inopportune moment."

Greg was still confused.

"Right - unfortunate, I grant you. But I still don't get what the bloody assault charges are about if that was it. I mean seriously? It was a schoolyard brawl, and I get the impression that that's being very generous."

"Oh it is," Mycroft chuckled, "I'd describe it more as a scuffle. Poor Henry didn't know what hit him."

Greg nodded.

"Exactly. It's not criminal damage, I mean, not really. He was bullying your brother, you were kids and-"

"He was the only and cherished son of the Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State."

Greg blinked.

"Eh?"

"The minister in charge of youth justice," Mycroft said, "Among other unfortunate things."

"Oh dear," Greg replied, trying and failing to contain the chuckle at his partner's expense.

"Yes, a rather unwise choice of sparring partner I'm afraid," Mycroft replied, although there was a slight quirking of his lips that put Greg at ease. "To be honest, I was lucky to get off with the caution. I was expecting jail time."

"For breaking someone's nose?" Greg laughed.

"Yes, well, it was a very, as you say, posh school. They weren't used to that sort of behaviour, well not out in the open where everyone could see anyway. They all made it seem far more serious than it actually was. And then of course I spent the whole ordeal being hounded by Wetherby, his friends, his father, his father's lawyers and don't even get me started on my father and his lawyers. I was 16. Jail times seemed like a very real possibility."

Greg's sides were starting to hurt by that point, having finally given into his mirth and laughed himself silly.

"You should have come to my school," he said once he finally calmed down enough to do so. "We would have been the best of mates. I reckon you'd have made a good punk you know?"

With a hearty chuckle, Mycroft replied, "Indeed. Such a waste."

"Did Wetherby," he said the name with an exaggerated grimace that made Mycroft smile, "End up picking on Sherlock again?"

"No," Mycroft replied, "He actually left Sherlock well alone."

"Well that's a result at least."

"Yes... somewhat."

"Somewhat?"

Mycroft grimaced, before confessing, "The actual reason he let Sherlock be was because he had focused his attention on me instead."

"Oh."

Mycroft chuckled.

"I got the impression he'd been hoping for jail time as well and was rather disappointed when it all fell through. So he and his lackeys dedicated the rest of the year to trying to pick fights with me in an attempt to press more charges."

Greg grimaced.

"Oh it was only until graduation," Mycroft assured him, "Nothing too traumatic."

"Good to know."

"So," sighed Mycroft, rolling his head onto his shoulder so to glance over at Greg, "Has you curiousity been laid to rest?"

Sighing dramatically, Greg grudgingly replied, "I suppose."

"Excellent."

Still chuckling intermittently, Greg rested his head against Mycroft's and murmured, "Could you imagine us going to the same school though?"

Mycroft scoffed.

"I don't think London would have survived it."

"No. Certainly not," Greg laughed. "We'd have been the perfect team. With your brains and my charm, we could have... ruled the world."

"England at the very least."

"... the sex would have been amazing."

"Gregory!"

"Shhhh, I'm imagining you on a motorcycle-"

"For goodness sake!"

"And riding leathers. Spiky hair-" 

Fin.


End file.
